


a glorious game

by starboykeith



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Barebacking, Begging, Blow Jobs, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Creampie, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, Missing Scene, Monsters and Mana, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Praise Kink, Roleplay, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Roleplay, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 23:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15851403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starboykeith/pseuds/starboykeith
Summary: Keith is both unsurprised and endeared by the fact that Shiro could have been anything – healer, hunter, thief – and chose to be a paladin.





	a glorious game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maradyne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maradyne/gifts).



> up to the reader when and where this takes place!
> 
> (if you spot the star trek reference you win my eternal love)
> 
> title from a prince by jorja smith

Keith is both unsurprised and endeared by the fact that Shiro could have been anything – healer, hunter, thief – and chose to be a paladin. He thinks it’s always been Shiro’s first, best destiny; sure, he was born for great things, exceeded Earth’s expectations – but there’s something between them now that makes Keith think they were meant for this. Shiro’s compassion and humanity had never faltered, and looking at Shiro’s character sheet, at Takashi Shirogane the Paladin, Keith can’t help his smile.

“What’s that?” Shiro asks, wrapping his arms around Keith’s middle and peering over his shoulder. Keith feels sheepish. He hadn’t meant to pry, but one glance at Shiro’s abandoned tablet had intrigued him. “Ah,” Shiro says, and when Keith looks at him, his cheeks are red.

“Paladin, huh?”

“Go on, laugh it up,” Shiro says, squeezing him tighter.

“I would never,” Keith says seriously. He shifts until Shiro lets go, and turns to look up at him with undisguised fondness. “I think it’s sweet.”

Shiro rubs at his cheek as though to extinguish the blush there. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Keith pauses, looking at Shiro’s statistics. “No matter how many times.”

“Did you look at yours?”

“Mine?”

“Your character,” Shiro says, taking the tablet and swiping through the other paladins’ characters until he reaches one that says –

“ _Prince_ Keith?”

Shiro hands it to him. “We didn’t want to leave you out,” he says, and it makes Keith feel warm.

“ _Barbarian_ prince, huh?” A wicked grin tugs at Keith’s lips.

“Only provides information if defeated in combat.”

“Knowledge or death,” Keith says cautiously, and Shiro squeezes his shoulder, eyes saying what words cannot. Keith looks down to study the sheet. “Lone wolf, animal lover… This is really cool, Shiro.”

“You’ve caught me out a few times,” Shiro says, taking the tablet back and switching it off. Keith studies his thoughtful expression. “If the others were free, we could play.”

Everyone’s busy, Keith knows. The necessary repairs take no small amount of time, and with threats fast approaching they’re lucky to get downtime at all.

Keith slips his hand into Shiro’s. “Actually,” he says, soft and suggestive, “I have a better idea.”

It’s been too long since he sparred with Shiro, really. They could have done this without an ulterior motive. But there’s nothing Keith likes better than a challenge.

Keith eyes Shiro as he enters the training hall, wearing just sweatpants and a vest. Keith’s ostensibly stretching his muscles, but he doesn’t look away as Shiro stalks towards him, stopping the other side of the mat. He bites his lip, nervous despite his absolute trust in Shiro: trust to care for him, trust not to laugh at him.

“Prince Keith,” Shiro says, giving a short bow. He doesn’t give into the smile Keith can see pulling at his mouth.

“Takashi Shirogane,” Keith returns, rolling the syllables over his tongue for as long as he dares, watching Shiro’s throat work as he swallows. “Is there something you require?”

Shiro licks his lips, which just isn’t fair.

“From you?” he says. “Always.”

“You know the cost,” Keith says, shifting his feet.

“I do.”

“And?”

“If I lose,” Shiro says, “you may do as you please with the… information.”

“And if you win?” Keith asks. He sounds more than a little breathless. Shiro looks smug; Keith clears his throat.

“Well,” Shiro says, barely more than a whisper. “Then I win.”

“Very well,” Keith says, injecting authority into his voice in an attempt to reclaim some of the shifting power.

He isn’t sure who moves first, both of them launching themselves into the centre of the mat. Keith briefly reflects on how far they’ve come since the Garrison, when he’d play dirty and unpredictable but Shiro’s adherence to rules and instructions would triumph nearly every time. Their fighting styles are different now: Shiro favours his prosthetic for obvious reasons, and Keith relies on speed rather than erratic brute force as he used to.

Keith stays on defence for a while, ducking Shiro’s attacks and striking out only when Shiro’s at a disadvantage: back turned, dominant hand out of reach. He tends to avoid Shiro’s prosthetic at all costs, so it shocks them both when Shiro swings round and Keith catches his fist, hard metal a shock to the system and stopping all the force of Shiro’s hit.

They both swear, sent stumbling away from each other. Keith’s right hand hurts like hell so he switches to his left; Shiro notices, and between one beat and the next a half-smirk appears on his face. Keith goes on the attack, not allowing smugness at impressing Shiro to cloud his judgement, and Shiro grunts as he blocks hit after hit. Keith weaves around him, striking at Shiro’s back or legs when he has chance, dodging Shiro’s retaliatory attacks.

Next time they collide and recoil from each other, Shiro uses the pause to wrench his vest over his head, showing off muscles shiny with sweat, and Keith swallows involuntarily. They’re both breathing hard, and Keith watches Shiro’s chest rise and fall for the brief moment before they come back to each other.

Keith finds himself faltering.

One weak and one strong hand isn’t working in his favour; ambidexterity has spoiled him, and it’s hard to adjust to using just one, wincing when he makes a risky attack with his right hand and lands a feeble hit. Shiro takes the advantage as it comes; as they fight on, the difference in their stamina becomes more apparent. Relying on speed takes more out of Keith than he’d like to admit; it’s far easier to win a fight early, but if it wears on he flags, forced to depend on the strength of his hits rather than the quantity.

Shiro switches to defence, and Keith growls in irritation, knowing Shiro’s waiting him out. It isn’t much longer after that when Shiro feints, pretending to fall for Keith’s fake hit but spinning as quickly as Keith and sweeping Keith’s legs out from under him.

Keith falls flat on his chest and Shiro’s on him a second later, weight pinning Keith’s legs and stretching full-length above him to grasp Keith’s wrists. All the breath knocked from his lungs, Keith splutters and wriggles for a moment before conceding defeat, falling still.

“Call it,” Shiro murmurs in his ear.

“You won,” Keith spits out, but Shiro doesn’t let go. Keith becomes aware of Shiro’s chest pressed tight against his back, the heat of him, their breathless panting. “Shiro,” he says helplessly.

It’s easy to forget their situation, but it all comes rushing back when Shiro says, “Yes, my prince?”

“Fuck,” Keith says under his breath. He squirms under Shiro, relishing his startled moan, until Shiro climbs off him. Keith rolls over rather than stand up, watching Shiro’s eyes slide over his body. His shirt is stuck to him, wet with sweat, and he’s starting to get hard, hot with the memory of Shiro pressed against him and Shiro’s shameless gaze now. Keith sees Shiro looking and spreads his legs a little wider.

“I won,” Shiro says slowly, savouring each word. “Will you give me what I want, your highness?”

Keith stares up at him and returns his gaze in kind, eyes moving over damp hair he wants to _pull_ , muscles that can put Keith anywhere Shiro wants him. The sight of Shiro hardening in his sweatpants makes Keith want to _worship_.

“Or will I have to _take_ it?”

Keith swallows, tipping his chin up in a further display of submission, displaying his throat. “Anything,” he whispers.

 _Anything_ becomes frustration. Shiro leaves him there, on the floor, with orders to shower and be in his bed in ten minutes. Keith resists the urge to jerk off in the shower, biting his lip and turning the shower colder because he wants to be _good_ for Shiro. Punishment is fun, and there’s nothing Keith loves more than winding Shiro up, but tonight he knows who he belongs to.

He’s in Shiro’s room before Shiro is, so Keith has time to undress bar his boxers, to arrange himself on the bed, to wait, heart in his throat, for Shiro to return. Shiro doesn’t make him wait long.

It’s hard not to move when all of Keith wants to touch Shiro, when his body is telling him it’s been too long, when he needs Shiro _now_. Shiro’s smile when he sees Keith becomes a smirk, and self-assurance, nearly arrogance, infuses his walk; he _advances_ towards Keith, and Keith feels overwhelmingly like prey.

“My prince,” Shiro purrs, and God, Keith thinks, it should sound stupid but he’s harder than he’s ever been in his life.

“Paladin,” he replies, and knows it was the right decision when Shiro growls, stopping at the foot of the bed. He’s still dressed, just a t-shirt and boxers, and Keith desperately wants them off.

“My name,” he says, eyes dragging hotly over Keith, “is Shiro. And you _will_ use it.”

“I will,” Keith repeats, entranced.

“Good,” Shiro says, and the word rushes through Keith like a tidal wave. Shiro climbs on the bed then, crawling over Keith and positioning himself carefully as so not to actually touch him. Keith aches with the denial of touch, arching up, not daring to touch but angling his head up for a kiss.

And Shiro does kiss him, short and sweet and quite contrary to his persona so far, but when Keith meets his eyes Shiro mouths, “Okay?” and Keith’s heart spills over.

He nods and Shiro’s eyes soften.

This time he kisses Keith harder, slides his tongue into Keith’s mouth and dominates, one hand coming to cup Keith’s face. It’s the easiest thing in the world to submit, but as soon as Keith’s hand touches Shiro’s arm Shiro pulls away entirely, leaving Keith to exhale breathlessly in the space between them.

Shiro’s eyes are dark and intoxicating and the last thing Keith sees before Shiro kisses his neck, his collarbone, his chest, moving down the bed so he’s better placed to take Keith’s nipple in his mouth.

Keith only just stops himself from moaning, trying not to let himself go so quickly, but it’s nigh impossible when Shiro starts sucking, tongue flicking over the hardening bud. Keith hesitates before sinking his hands into Shiro’s hair but Shiro allows it, making a pleased noise in his throat as Keith pulls like he’s wanted to ever since they sparred.

He hitches his leg up around Shiro’s waist, needing to touch, needing more than Shiro keeping at an impersonal distance yet driving Keith to the brink, and gasps, “Shiro?”

“Hmm?” Shiro raises his head, and Keith’s thighs tremble. “Is there something I can do for you, my lord?”

The title shouldn’t send heat rushing through Keith. It shouldn’t make his cock twitch in his boxers. And yet, Keith kind of likes it.

“Take your clothes off,” Keith begs, half-sick of his legs sliding across fabric but mostly desperate to _see_ , to watch the ripple of Shiro’s muscles and watch him burn with need as Keith does.

“Hmm,” Shiro says, and Keith cries out when Shiro pinches his nipple. “Do you know the magic word, your highness?”

Keith groans, trying to tug Shiro back down to his chest, but Shiro stays still, gazing at him with a challenge in his eyes.

“Take your clothes off,” Keith says again. Shiro raises an eyebrow. Keith lowers his voice and says, “Please.”

Shiro says nothing but his lips twitch with a smile as he stands. He strips his shirt off with ease, but his fingers pause at the waistband of his boxers.

“These too?” he teases.

“Yes,” Keith says quickly. It occurs to him to be embarrassed, being so needy, but it’s worth it for the gleam in Shiro’s eyes, the slow drag of his boxers over his hips until he kicks them away. Shiro’s half-hard, but when Keith whispers, “Come here,” he shakes his head.

“I’ve given you a lot of things already,” Shiro says, and Keith swallows. “I think it’s time for me to have something, don’t you?”

Shiro climbs over him again, but this time it’s overwhelming, touching everywhere and Keith kisses him until he draws away. Shiro moves with purpose, kissing a path down Keith’s chest, ignoring his reddened nipples and touching his tongue to Keith’s happy trail. Keith sighs in frustration when Shiro moves away, but it’s just to tug Keith down the bed by his hips, to take Keith’s wrists in his hands and pin them above his head.

“Keep your hands there,” he says, and Keith knows it’s an order.

He can’t resist gasping quietly, asking, “Magic?” in a whisper, and it’s immensely satisfying knowing Shiro’s grin isn’t in character.

“Yeah,” Shiro says casually, and then he puts a finger to Keith’s lips. “Don’t push it,” Shiro murmurs, and Keith nods quickly, heartbeat accelerating.

Shiro moves down again, pressing sucking kisses that tickle as much as they make Keith squirm. He doesn’t waste time, pulling Keith’s boxers down and away and tossing them to the floor. Keith desperately wants to grab the sheets, grab Shiro’s hair, do _anything_ more than clench his fists above his head.

He cries out when Shiro takes his cock in his mouth, and it’s harder than anything to keep his hands where Shiro put them. Keith’s glad this is the only restriction, because he can’t keep quiet: Shiro’s only sucking at the head of his cock, and every breath comes out as a moan.

Keith wants nothing more than this to be real, that Shiro could hold him down with nothing but magic, that it was Shiro’s doing and not Keith’s own strength of will keeping his wrists above his head. It’s hard to concentrate when Shiro takes him in to the root, noises filthy and the movement of his throat around Keith even more obscene. Keith’s toes curl when Shiro bobs his head; he pushes his heels deep into the mattress in an attempt not to move, but Shiro still curls a hand around Keith’s hip to stop him thrusting up.

Shiro’s _good_ at it, looks good taking Keith like this, and it’s a combination of the feel and the sight and how long Keith was waiting to be touched that has him on the edge so soon, panting and muscles tensing and hands straining against imaginary bonds.

“Shiro,” he cries, and it’s the tightening of Shiro’s grip on Keith’s hipbone that spills him over, a proprietary, possessive touch that makes Keith feel wanted, needed, _owned_. Shiro swallows endlessly and Keith’s quick to feel oversensitive, hips shifting with his inability to push Shiro away.

Shiro pulls off with an indecent noise, and Keith tips his head back and groans.

“Where are your manners, my lord?” Shiro asks. He does false admonishment too well; Keith feels just a flicker of shame.

“Thank you,” he says obediently, and holds his breath when Shiro crawls over him again, though he isn’t what’s holding Shiro’s attention.

Shiro retrieves their bottle of lube and tuts when he sees it’s nearly empty. “I thought a spoiled rich boy like you would have _more_ than enough,” he says, low.

Keith wants to scowl at him, wants to say _well, if you didn’t use so much_ – but Shiro won, and Keith casts his eyes down in mock-chagrin. Besides, he thinks ruefully, it’s not as though he doesn’t love how careful Shiro is, stretching Keith so wide and for so long on his fingers Keith worries he might be spent before they even get anywhere.

“You can take your hands down,” Shiro says suddenly, and Keith brings them down, wincing a little from holding the position. Shiro looks concerned, taking Keith’s hands in his, and Keith smiles and shakes his head.

“What are you gonna do now?” he challenges, and Shiro’s expression snaps from tender to possessive in a way that takes Keith’s breath away.

“I’m gonna open you up on my fingers, your highness,” Shiro says, voice gravelly the way Keith likes, “and I’ll fuck you like the royalty you are.”

Keith goes hot all over, breath catching painfully in his throat, cock twitching and hardening. He shivers, filled suddenly with a frantic need. He doesn’t put voice to this because he knows Shiro would draw it out, and Keith may have lost but it hasn’t made him more patient.

“Okay,” he breathes instead, biting his lip and watching it draw Shiro’s gaze.

It’s not long before Shiro’s kissing a path down his chest again, but this time he ignores Keith’s cock, half-hard, and wastes no time drizzling lube over his fingers and testing an exploratory touch to Keith’s hole.

The swift coolness takes Keith by surprise and his muscles tense instinctively, legs pushing together. Shiro’s hands splay over Keith’s thighs, spreading his legs slowly but with a strength Keith knows it would be useless to struggle against.

“Open for me,” Shiro murmurs, and Keith swallows and obeys, bending at the knees and placing his feet firmly on the mattress so he doesn’t slip, doesn’t misbehave again. “Good boy,” Shiro says, and the praise runs hot through Keith’s veins and comes to collect behind his navel, a burning warmth stoked higher when Shiro’s fingers slide between his legs.

Shiro fingers him open with care, but fast enough that Keith’s gasping for it, rocking down to meet Shiro’s movements, thigh muscles burning with how wide he’s spread open. It’s a delicious burn, getting sweeter with every finger Shiro adds, and Keith stops biting his lip when Shiro tells him to be loud.

“Do you like it like this, my prince?” Shiro asks him, eyes on Keith’s face even as he stretches Keith with three fingers. His tone is half-mocking and tells Keith that there’s a right answer; that he has to ask something in return. There’s a reason, too, that Shiro’s avoided his prostate with the concentration of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Yes,” Keith whispers. “Could you,” he starts, and hesitates.

The grey eyes Keith loves are dark. “Could I what?”

As Keith fumbles for the words, Shiro curls his fingers just enough to brush Keith’s prostate, just enough to make Keith moan and arch his back.

“Well?” Shiro asks sharply.

“Touch me there,” Keith gasps, hopelessly distracted by increasingly faster thrusts. “Please, Shiro.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Shiro says, tone softening and fingers curling and it’s too much all at once, the insistent press of Shiro’s fingers against the sensitive bundle of nerves and Keith cries out, hands fisting in the sheets.

“Fuck,” is lost among a sob, but Shiro hears nevertheless.

“Language,” he reprimands, his tone itself an order. Keith tries to wrestle back control, teeth sinking into his lip, and it’s harder, not easier, when Shiro withdraws his fingers, leaving Keith painfully empty.

“Turn over,” Shiro says, and for the first time he sounds a little undone too. They exchange a look before Keith rolls onto his stomach: again, Shiro’s eyes ask the question, and again Keith nods.

“Yes, sir,” he says. Belated answer it may be, but Shiro still inhales sharply behind him, grip tightening on Keith’s hip as Keith gets comfortable on all fours and eagerly spreads his legs.

He holds his breath as Shiro lines himself up, waiting for a response that comes in the form of one hard thrust, Shiro bottoming out and drawing a frantic wail from Keith. He can’t quite catch his breath: Shiro leaves no time between pulling out and pushing back in, and to be filled so suddenly and completely makes Keith’s throat hoarse with crying out.

It’s hard to hold himself up and Keith’s almost relieved when Shiro stops to press him down, pushing between Keith’s shoulders so he collapses on his forearms, panting.

“Okay?” Shiro asks in a whisper, leaning down.

Keith exhales, pressing one cheek to the sheets. “Don’t stop, paladin,” he says, concealing his smile.

Shiro’s laugh is warm and dark and makes Keith shiver. “I’m the one giving the orders around here,” he says, and the pace is slower but it feels _deeper_ , more thorough. Shiro fucks him with slow dirty grinds of his hips and hits Keith’s prostate with agonising precision and Keith’s gasping for air, gasping for more and freeing one hand to touch himself –

“No,” Shiro says sharply. Keith moans and clenches his fist in the sheets instead, painfully close but unable to make it over the edge.

“Please,” he whispers without prompting. Shiro ignores him, fucks him harder and Keith leans into it, takes it, rocks his hips back and squeezes around Shiro, whining with how big Shiro feels inside him. When Keith finds his rhythm, he knows Shiro feels it too.

“Keith,” Shiro pants, hips stuttering. The first time he’s said Keith’s name, and somehow it tips Keith even closer to the edge.

Even Shiro’s adherence to the rules slips in the heat of the moment, Keith thinks smugly. _Because of me_.

“Come on, Shiro,” he says, aching for it, “come for me, you earned it, you won – “

“Fuck, _Keith_.” Shiro groans and he thrusts in one last time and comes, grip tightening on Keith’s hips to the point of pain and the shock of it combined with pleasure pushes Keith over too. His cry is lost to the sheets as he lets his head fall forward, panting hard.

He moans again when Shiro pulls out, careful but having left enough time that Keith’s sensitive, biting his lip at the drag of it. He lets Shiro turn him over and gives him a lazy smile.

“I hope that was satisfactory, my lord,” Shiro says, but he’s smiling too.

“Oh, shut up,” Keith says, laughing and tugging Shiro down to kiss him. “My brave paladin.” He means to say it sarcastically, in the lovey-dovey way he despises, but it comes out far more sincere than he’d intended.

“My prince,” Shiro says genuinely, and Keith rolls his eyes and kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a comment if you enjoyed, and you can find me on twitter at twitter.com/starboysheith and tumblr at starboykeith.tumblr.com !


End file.
